The man was a big'un alright, looked rock hard and cat quick. He wondered if these mountains were full of tough, old gophers like this one. It could be, his own hills had their share of them. Man looked a lot like his own grandpap, 'ceptin' for size. Lordy, but them black eyes looked hard as flint. Wouldn't do to fool with this fella'. He had the look of a man who had killed before. Sam wished he would get on with his talking.
Rob figured he had let them sweat long enough. He lowered the Shuler but kept it pointing near down-range. There were still three of them and pistols could be snatched mighty quick.
He cleared his throat and began, "I reckon you boys got orders to scout the pass and report back what's there." No one said anything.
"Well, there's no way you can do that. If you ride on up, you'll get shot out of your saddles, an' if any of you manage to hang on, I'll pick you off comin' back down." They didn't seem disturbed, but Rob knew they would be thinking hard.
Sam spoke up, "Suppose you was right. You reckon we-uns can ride back and tell the Colonel that one old man with a wooden leg stopped us cold?" He wondered if the hunter would anger easily and was relieved to again see the quick smile.
Rob waited a moment, as though studying the problem. "Hmm, guess that wouldn't stand too good at that. 'Course, you could tell your Colonel that I was a bunch of old men an' you wouldn't have to mention my wooden pin."
Hiding behind a roiling smoke cloud, Sam played his own thinking game.
"We-uns don't hold much with lyin' to our Colonel, hunter. Seems as though we-all ought to find a better way than that."
"Well, if all you was supposed to do was find out how things stood at the pass and generally what lies beyond, I might just be able to tell you enough so's you wouldn't have to go lookin' your ownselves."
Sam smoked and nodded dubiously, "Might work out thataway, if we felt you-all were tellin' it straight and all."
Rob said, "Some of you boys are from mountain country, ain't you?" Sam and Billy nodded. "Alright then, you-all just think how it would be in your own valley if a strange Army came trampin' through.
"While most of our young men're off with our army, the rest of us heard you were comin' and we got ready. Fact is, we've got rifle pits and roadblocks at all the passes. They're manned, and like in your county our people shoot real straight and don't scare easy.
"Now, we don't expect to hold off your Army if it turns this way. But we do figure to keep your foragers out of our valleys. Our women and boys are set to scatter the stock and hide most anything valuable. Meantime, we'll be pickin' you off from the woods and rocks 'till you turn around and go home. That's if you ever do get through a pass."
Rob paused to let them digest his words, then continued, "Now, don't that ring true to you-all? Ain't that about what your own people would be doin'?"
There was some restless shuffling before Sam spoke up. "Well, I can't argue about that being what we might expect, but it wouldn't do to tell our Colonel wrong, now would it?"
Rob weighed that for a moment. "No, I guess it wouldn't. 'Course, if you ride up to see, chances are good your Colonel won't learn anything at the cost of three good men." He let them chew that for a minute.
"On the other hand, I'm pretty well known in these parts. When I give my word on something it's taken as true. Now, I can give you my word that what I told you is correct and you can ask at most any home along the road if Rob Shatto's word is good or not."
Sam's mouth dropped and his pipe spilled hot ashes unnoticed. Rob wondered what on earth had struck the boy. One of the soldiers said, "I'll be durned!"
Sam's voice was awestruck, "Good God A'mighty! I should'a knowed it right off! Why you're my uncle, or cousin, or somethin'! Why, we. . .I. . , Why my name's Sam Shatto! Great fireballs, I've heard my grandpap talk about you. You're the one that went west and got his foot shot off and all! Good God A'mighty, I should'a knowed."
Sam Shatto felt himself tingling like a small boy. Rob Shatto stories had drifted through the family for all of Sam's years. As a boy he'd gotten the two Rob's mixed in his mind and played at being Rob Shatto the frontiersman in his own Tennessee wilderness.
Rob looked at his kin with his own astonishment. While the Private soldier had looked familiar, he'd seen nothing recognizable in Sam Shatto. He found himself wondering at the strangeness of it. Over the years he had learned to be suspicious of coincidences. Usually they were contrived for someone's benefit.
Sam Shatto? Rob knew little about his uncles and cousins. The youth could belong to any of them. He figured the boy to be telling it true however. It would take a lot of actor to put on Sam's obvious astonished pleasure. One thing for sure, it would make the talking easier. Then, the thought came over him, about what he'd do if Sam insisted on going on up the mountain. Rob settled down to work on some serious persuading.
Rob learned their names. Billy-Joe Barstow seemed a likable sort. The name Elton Ruby squinted his eyes a little. That Ruby look with long features and bee-stung cheeks was what he had half recognized. Ruby came from the Carolinas, so he was sure as shooting kin to the long departed Maddoc. Elton Ruby siding and riding with Sam Shatto. Times changed, that was for sure!
Rob sort of worked out Sam's relationship to him, although many of the names were new. The sorting helped, and tensions eased until a lone couple clattering their horses up the mountain stopped in consternation at sight of the Confederates, but at Rob's wave, they went on up and out of sight.
Sam stirred restlessly, "Reckon your people will send help down, cousin Rob?"
"Don't expect so, Sam. Still, we'd better get this all settled. Good as it is meetin' kin, we've still got separate tasks to take on.
"Gettin' on with it, I'm still suggesting, stronger than ever in fact, that you take my word on how things are at the pass and in the valleys beyond. You will need a full troop to break through, and you'll take too many casualties doing it. After you are over the ridge, you won't find much worth taking along anyhow. We are prepared to scatter and keep on shooting! Sam, it is not worth it!"
The Corporal nodded, accepting the words both because he believed them and because he could see no other sensible choice.
He said, "Alright, cousin Rob. That's how it'll be then." He felt his men's relief, "I'll report meeting kin to the Colonel and tell him straight out what you've said."
Having it all settled left them a little restless. They cut the parley short, and the Confederates tightened cinches. Rob looked at their sorry, worn nags and thought how miserable it must be to travel and fight on worn-out, captured plow horses. On impulse he said, "Sam, send your men down the trail a ways. I'd like a little time alone with you."
The two privates rode downhill, obviously not liking it much and not going too far. Rob said, "Wait here."
He slipped into the timber and Sam knew the stories he had heard were true. The peg-leg made no difference that Sam Shatto could see. Rob moved like an Indian, silent as a stalking panther, and there, sure enough, was the two-barreled pistol riding in the small of Rob Shatto's back. Sam felt like a kid seeing his first real soldier, or maybe a real wild Indian; it made him break out in goose bumps. Sam heard him coming back with his horse and waited, hand instinctively on his pistol butt.
Rob's animal was a big-boned bay gelding. The horse looked like a runner, but with the solid muscled look of a stayer. Sam Shatto found it hard to take his eyes off the horse to listen to Rob's words.
It was simple enough. Cousin Rob intended to swap horses with him. Sam wondered if Rob fully realized what the gift of a real horse could mean to a cavalryman. He rubbed his hand over the branded arrowhead on the gelding's flank. He was, just like that, the best-mounted man in JEB Stuart's Cavalry.
He shifted his saddle trying to find the right kind of words. He was shamed to see Rob throwing saddle on his old plug. He made promises to visit after the war, thanked his Yankee cousin a few more times, and rode down to his men.
Rob could hear their exclamations and please
d whoops. He shook his head, half-disgusted with himself. Chances were that both Sam and the gelding would never survive the war. Probably, he had just killed a good horse. Still, he felt pleased about it and mounted Sam's nag with a laugh over how it had all worked out. True, he would have some explaining to do to the men on the pass. He wasn't quite sure how they would take him giving his horse to the enemy.
+++++
There was explaining to do. He hallooed long and loud far below the first redoubts. The last thing he needed was some farmer's musket ball under his skin. He kept right on announcing who he was until well within the lines and off the strange horse.
Men deserted their posts to crowd around and ask what had happened to the Confederates he had been reported jawing with. A few looked nervously down the mountain, but most were too taken up with looking at Rob's worn out horse and waiting for his words.
Someone said almost resentfully, "We didn't hear no shootin'."
Rob said, "Well, they were just scouting around. I told 'em what was waiting up here, and they decided to turn around."
A few men looked disappointed, but the others were plainly relieved. One man said, "Good thing they didn't try comin' through." Another suggested he "Shut up."
"What about this here horse, Rob?'
"What about it, Beamer?"
"Damndest wore out thing I've seen hereabouts. Them Rebels take yours and ride off?"
"Why no, Beamer, I traded for this animal. You mean you think I got the short end?"
There was snorted disbelief as Abel Troop came striding up. He stalked in good military form with his hand pushed down on his sword hilt so his scabbard poked straight out behind. He looked at the old horse, Rob's saddle on it, and finally at Rob looking sober and leaning on his rifle.
Abel's voice was serious for the men's benefit, but Rob could see the laughter in his eyes, and he hoped old Abel didn't bubble over and wound all that discipline they had been working on.
A man said, "Captain, you going to make him tell straight out what happened down there? Fer all we know, the whole rebel army might be startin' up the pass."
Abel appeared thoughtful. "Well, I expect he'd of mentioned it if we were about to be invaded." Then to Rob, "Come with me, oh great scout. I want a full report on what went on down there."
When they were seated comfortable on the reverse slope and properly protected by Abel's headquarters tent, Rob told how it had gone.
When he was finished, Abel thumped his camp table with some gratification. "Rob that's fine! That's surely fine! With any luck, we will not be bothered up here." He leaned back, digging out his worn pipe. "You've done a good turn for us all this day, old friend."
He paused to light up. "Fortune shines on old villains like us. Imagine a Shatto turning up like that, not to mention a Ruby riding with him. Think he was related to old Bart and Maddoc?
"Had the look, Abel."
"Small world, Rob," Troop looked at Rob's horse tied close by. "One thing though, Rob. When this victorious band rides home amid cheers and rose petals, don't ride close to me. That plug would surely ruin my soldierly image."
Rob looked inquisitively at the worn animal. "Oh, I don't know, Abel, you're a lot alike, big hanging belly and old sway back. Teeth look a lot alike, too."
Abel grunted and thumped a torso as lean and hard as Rob's, "Huh, Minie balls would bounce from my muscled abdomen, you ancient fossil!"
Still studying the horse, Rob said, "Fine animal like that brings back old memories," He leaned close and spoke confidentially, "Suppose it's time for Lewis the Robber to ride again?'
The camp heard their laughter. Some shook their heads, not understanding, but most felt safer figuring things couldn't be too bad if Captain Troop and Rob Shatto could laugh about it.
+++++
They stayed on the mountain until word of the Gettysburg battle reached them. Some sort of sickness had gotten into the men and they weren't in too good shape. Rob thought it was just as well there wasn't any fighting to do.
They straggled their way home, most glad to be done with it, and only a few mouthing about how they wished Bob Lee or old Jeb Stuart had tried to come through their gap.
Rob rode slowly, letting his poor horse pick along. Bloomfield looked good with people in the streets talking about the union's great victory. The Little Buffalo looked even better. He knew Amy would be anxious for him, but he paused near the creek to turn the old horse out and look at the animals grazing there.
He felt a little lonely somehow. Looking ahead, there didn't seem any special tasks looming and that didn't sit just right. He had always had things planned out and it was no good reaching the end of them.
Hoof beats pounded near the house and a stranger-horse broke into a wild run straight at him. The rider leaned low, riding like a damned Sioux Indian and Rob couldn't see who it was.
The horse swung wide, and Rob's heart leaped as its Appaloosa markings stood out as clear as could be. The rider slipped to the off-side of the mare with only his arm and leg showing, the way Indians rode in battle.
Rob felt his eyes brimming, and it was hard to wait until the rider swung down. Then Chip stood there, tall as a pine and strong like an oak.
They stood, eye-level, Rob devouring the lithe power and special looks of his first son. Chip Shatto saw his father as he had always known him, almost indestructible, nearly a part of the earth on which he stood, a little dirty, wearing skins and guns, with the gold band on his peg-leg glinting.
Rob held out his arms to his son, and Chip stepped into them. He hadn't known how much he had missed his boys. He felt himself patting Chip's shoulder and thought they must look pretty foolish hugging like a pair of women. It felt good, so he kept on doing it.
He could feel some tears on his cheeks and thought he must be getting old, They stepped away from each other, each needing another look, then fell again into a powerful bear hug.
Chip nearly hoisted Rob off the ground before they fell to slapping each other's shoulders.
Chip said, "Oh Pap, you don't know how good it is to be home."
Rob thought maybe he did know. They moved toward the house, the Appaloosa nuzzling Chip's arm, They kept stopping to talk, mixing Sioux with English, and gesturing like two wild men.
If he had been happier, Rob Shatto could not recall it. They saw an apron fluttering and Rob said, "Let's get to the house before your mother comes after us."
They moved on, still making slow progress, again stopping to astound the other, words made strong by fluid arm movements.
+++++
From the porch of her home, Ami-ta-chena watched them come. She, too, felt the completeness. The circle had closed. Her men were settled. She watched the two of them, except for the glint of Rob's peg, almost indistinguishable.
They looked small coming from the far meadow, but she knew they stood tall among other men. They were hard when need be, yet gentle and thoughtful in nature. Her men were something special, and her heart filled with the love of them.
The End
About Roy Chandler
Rocky Chandler is now 86 years of age. He remains active and still rides his Harley-Davidson across the continental United States.
The author divides his time among Nokomis, FL, St Mary's City, MD, and Perry County, PA,
Author of more than sixty published books Chandler is writing a final novel titled Blackwater Jack.
Yep, that Blackwater. The new tale is a zinger.
Rocky Chandler: Author, Educator, Soldier, Patriot
Books by Roy Chandler
Reading order of fiction books in the Perry County Series
Friend Seeker
The Warrior
Arrowmaker
The Black Rifle
Fort Robinson
Ironhawk
Song of Blue Moccasin
Tim Murphy, Rifleman
Hawk's Feather
Shatto
Chip Shatto
Ted's Story
&
nbsp; The Boss's Boy
Tiff's Game
Cronies
The Didactor
The Perry Countian
The Sweet Taste
Old Dog
Gray's Talent
Ramsey
Shooter Galloway
Shatto's Way
Gun of Joseph Smith series (Young Adult)
Gun of Joseph Smith, The (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1987
Tuck Morgan, Plainsman (Vol. 2) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1991
Morgan's Park (Vol. 3) (With Katherine R. Chandler), 1997
Sniper Series
Death From Afar I (And Norman A. Chandler), 1992
Death From Afar II: Marine Corps Sniping (And Norman A. Chandler), 1993
Death From Afar Vol. III: The Black Book (And Norman A. Chandler), 1994
Death From Afar IV (And Norman A. Chandler), 1996
White Feather: Carlos Hathcock USMC scout sniper (And Norman A. Chandler), 1997
Death From Afar V (And Norman A. Chandler), 1998
Sniper One (Iron Brigade series), 2000
One Shot Brotherhood (And Norman A. Chandler)
Antique Guns
History of Early Perry County Guns and Gunsmiths (With Donald L. Mitchell), 1969
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes and Barrel Marks, 1972
Arms Makers of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1981
Gunsmiths of Eastern Pennsylvania, 1982
Pennsylvania Gunmakers (a collection), 1984
Kentucky Rifle Patchboxes All New Volume 2, 1992
Behold the Long Rifle, 1993
The Kentucky Pistol, 1994
Hunting
Alaskan Hunter: a book about big game hunting, 1972
Choose the Right Gun, 1994
Hunting Alaska, 1995
Shatto (Perry County, Pennsylvania Frontier Series) Page 22
